


Buzzed

by dennih23



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:33:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dennih23/pseuds/dennih23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter’s sick and asks Moz for more bee juice</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buzzed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the wingfic square on my trope bingo card.
> 
> Disclaimer: White Collar is not mine – it belongs to Jeff Eastin  
> Thanks to Angelita26, Terry, and Gayle for the Beta, all errors belong to me.

Taking another sip of water, Peter savored the cool liquid. He closed his eyes and attempted to focus on what Jones was saying. He felt sluggish and the morning meeting was dragging on forever. Jones finished updating everyone on their current case and as the Harvard Crew filed out of the room, he took the opportunity to lean back in his chair. Breathing deeply, he pushed himself out of his seat. Small barbs of pain radiated through his body making him feel like a pincushion. He ran a hand across his forehead wiping beads of sweat from his hairline. There was no doubt; he had the flu. Again. 

Grabbing a couple of files off his desk, he headed for the door. Passing Neal’s desk he paused and rasped out, “Neal, can you get ahold of Mozzie? His bug stuff worked last time, and I need to see about getting more.”

Glancing up Neal immediately rolled his chair as far away from him as he could. “Peter, you’re sick. I thought you never were ill, now twice this year – you must be getting old.”

Peter squinted attempting to glare at Neal, but his bleary eyes wouldn’t focus. “Neal, please just see if Mozzie has any more of his bee juice left.”

Neal pulled out his cell phone, “I’ll call him, now take your germs and get out of here.”

Peter sneezed and headed out the door.

He parked a block away from his home which meant a longer walk to his house. All his energy was zapped as he stumbled through his front door. Satch was happy to see his daddy home early and almost ran him over. Peter quickly gave him an ear rub and dropped the files on the table. 

He threw together a deviled ham sandwich and heated some water for a cup of El’s herbal lemon tea. Taking a bite of his sandwich his stomach lurched. He tossed the rest into Satch’s bowl. “Don’t tell El, if she knew I was feeding you we’d both be in trouble.” Satch woofed and wagged his tail agreeing to keep their secret.

He flipped open one of the case files he brought home. He started reading the dossier but kept blinking as the words blurred together. It was difficult to concentrate and he flinched when his phone rang. The caller id showed a blocked number. Hoping it was Mozzie he answered with a scratchy, “Burke.”

“Ah, Suit, I understand you require my assistance.” Mozzie sounded way too happy and Peter wondered how much wine had been consumed.

“Do you have more of your bee pollen stuff?” his voice barely audible.

“I may be able to help, but first we need to figure out payment.”

He sighed, “I knew this was a bad idea. How about I don’t arrest you for whatever you and Neal are up to.” 

“Ah, threats are not necessary. I will compose some of my special elixir for you since there are no preservatives – you do know they are not good for you.”

Peter cut him off, “Please just put some together and drop the stuff off.”

“Fine, I’ll be there in an hour or so.”

Peter hung up and decided to flop down on the couch until Mozzie arrived with the bee concoction. He stretched out and closed his eyes. It did not take long before he dozed off. He was dreaming he was back in the minor leagues pitching a no hitter. Someone chanting his name roused him. 

He slowly pried his eyes open only to see Mozzie staring down at him. Sitting up quickly, he winced and immediately regretted his actions, “Mozzie, what the hell.”

“Sorry Suit. You didn’t answer your doorbell so I let myself in. I put my Miracle Honey Bee Remedy on the counter. I left extra in case you transfer your microbes to your beautiful wife.” With that Moz headed out the door. 

Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, Peter stretched and hoisted himself off the couch. He was stiff and sore - when did he get so old? He ambled over to the kitchen when a wave of nausea swept over him. He caught himself on the edge of the counter, knocking over the vials of Mozzie’s stuff, spilling their contents on the floor. Satch came over and happily lapped up the sweet syrupy mixture. 

Oh hell, he was just too tired to call and ask Mozzie for more so he made himself another cup of tea and curled up on the couch. Maybe if he just rested awhile he would feel better. He hated being sick, and he really wished El was home to take care of him. He turned the television on to the first sporting event he found and drifted back off to sleep.

Persistent barking woke him from his slumber. He shivered and rolled over, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and throwing it over himself. His head hurt, his ears were ringing, and now the constant barking was giving him a headache. He wondered what had Satch so upset. 

He opened one eye, searching the room for his dog but didn’t see him. He tried calling the dog, but his raw throat only managed a quiet, “Here boy”. Whistling was no better. He tried one last time to call Satch. He watched in shock as his dog came flying down the stairs – literally flying.

What the … Satch had large wings and was circling above him. 

He squeezed his eyes closed, hoping he was dreaming. Slowly he pried them open again only to find that Satch was still soaring around the room. Sitting up, he stared as his dog dipped and circled around the living room. This couldn’t be happening. When did his dog sprout wings? 

He tried to think and suddenly remembered Satch drinking the stuff from Mozzie – what had been in that? Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t drink it. He picked up his phone to call Mozzie when Satch flew up the stairs. 

He set the phone down and started to follow Satchmo. He made it to the bottom of the staircase and stood looking up. The stairs seemed to waiver in his vision. He took one step at a time and slowly dragged himself to the top fighting the dizziness. He followed the barking and found Satch in the bedroom hovering over the bed.

Watching Satch fly around his bedroom, swooping and dive bombing made him nauseous. He sat on the bed and tried coaxing the dog to his side. After Peter promised him treats, Satch landed on the bed next to him. He started looking for wings when he passed out.

He woke to a warm familiar hand pressing against his forehead. “Oh Hon, you’re burning up” El whispered. She fussed over him, helping him strip and get into his favorite pair of sweatpants and Le Moyne tee shirt. Then she tucked blankets around him. 

Finally warm and comfortable, he wrapped his hand around hers and lovingly kissed her palm. Glancing around he asked, “El, where’s Satch?”

Confused, El looked around, “He’s right here Peter, why?”

“Does he have wings?”

She cocked her head, “Peter are you okay?”

“Yeah, just, when I woke earlier” he hesitated, “he was flying.”

El ran a hand down his cheek. “Oh Hon, I think your fever caused you to dream Satch was flying. I’m going to get a cool washcloth and some aspirin. Let’s see if we can bring your fever down.” He watched as she headed for their bathroom.

After she left Peter scanned the room and spotted Satch laying outside the bedroom door in the hallway. He narrowed his gaze, still not convinced. “I’m watching you”. Hearing his master’s voice, Satch came over and sat next to the bed. Peter ran a hand over him just to double check that there were no wings.

El came back to their bedroom, supplies in hand. She fed him the pills and water, kissing his forehead after he took the medicine. She picked up her cell phone, “I’m calling Mozzie. I think you need some of his bee antidote.”

His eyes widened and he squeaked out, “NO!” He squeezed his eyes shut. Opening them he looked up at his beautiful wife, “Sorry, I mean please don’t bother him. I’ll be fine in the morning. I promise.”

Smiling at him she continued to dial the phone. “Hey Moz, Peter’s sick, would you mind making up some of your special bee remedy?”

Peter didn’t hear anymore; he groaned and buried his head under the pillow.


End file.
